Years of walking and talking with an old friend. Illustration by Mikel Jaso How many steps can you walk a day before your toenails start coming off? How would you go about eating an entire car tire in twelve months? How long do you need to know someone before they become an irreplaceable part of your life? These are seemingly odd, unrelated questions, but they come together in the latest essay by David Sedaris, in which he writes about Dawn, an old friend and frequent companion on the road. “Though currently on loan to her husband and stepchildren in the city of Red Wing, Minnesota, Dawn is mine, and although we’ve never discussed it, I’m pretty sure I’m hers as well,” Sedaris observes. “I know because I can feel it.” Support The New Yorker’s award-winning journalism. Subscribe today » |
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